I have been blogging for one and a half months now. I never thought I would ever have the courage to put my thoughts on paper and let the world read it. It is such a great release of emotion. I am getting addicted to writing, something I now wish I had done all my life.
A number of years ago, probably 25 years ago, I started to journal my feelings about past whenever they came up. One of those feelings came up when I started thinking about the last job I had, I mean before I became self-employed and so the journaling began. My previous employment was during the time I had my mental breakdown. There were counsellors on staff, I was a supervisor. My mood changed, my personality changed and I continued to work there for at least another year while I was broken.
The counsellors were not really counsellors. They were more like information takers. Otherwise they might have noticed I had gone a bit haywire. Not a bit haywire, that is a big understatement.
I started journaling my thoughts about this, how I felt when I left the job when no one even said good-bye. I probably wrote about 20 pages and put the book away, never to write in it again. When we moved to a new house about 10 years later, I unpacked this box to find the journal. I started reading it. As I was reading, my brain was refusing to believe I felt this bad when I left that job. I couldn’t remember writing those words. I didn’t remember feeling that worthless. It evoked such an overwhelming feeling of despair, liked by no-one, useless, shame, embarrassed about who I was. I guess I blocked those memories out and never thought anymore about it until I found the journal. 25 years ago is when I left the job, got married and moved away. My healing only began after moving away from family and everything I knew.
I had forgotten how extremely depressed, chemically imbalanced, anxious I was. My personality had changed so much during that time it still shocks me that the Director at least did not call me in to figure out what was going on.
I couldn’t even finish reading the journal. I hadn’t felt this emotion since I wrote it. I didn’t want anyone to ever find this journal so I threw it in the wood stove. I could not deal with the anxiety it brought on. I would be horrified if anyone ever found it.
Oddly enough, now I wish I had kept that journal. Now that I am writing, I want to know what was in that note-book. I can’t remember what it said, I can only remember how I felt when I found it. I do remember feeling ashamed of who I was because no one bothered to say good-bye. That is all I can remember. I wish I had written my whole life. It makes me wonder just how many events I have blocked.
Life is amazing isn’t it? Or should I say, our brains are amazing. They block us from remembering things it thinks we should not remember.
I’m writing now, I can’t get enough of it.
I’m Frazzled Again
photo from Pixar.com